Delirium
by HeresToTheFuture
Summary: 'Love is unnatural. Love is a disease. So why did I have to go and fall in love with Edward Cullen' In a world where love is illegal what will Bella do to keep her humanity? Love is after all is a dangerous game. Rated M. BellaxEdward


**This is a repost as before there were so many issues I wasn't happy about, but its back and I'm happy with it! Hope you enjoy it!**

_**-The most dangerous of sicknesses is **_**Amor Deliria Nervosa**_**. It is the disease that makes you feel well, although there is something very wrong.-**_

_**-The Book of Hush-**_

* * *

It's been near 65 years since the President identified love as a disease. Well, 45 years since a cure was perfected for it anyway. Everyone in my family has had it done already. My older sister Jane has been cured for about 3 years now and tells me she can't even remember the symptoms of love. My procedure is September 13th. My birthday.

A lot of teenagers are scared of the procedure. Some are scared if it's painful. Some are frightened that they won't be the same as before. There are stories of people even resisting, but they are rare. I can't wait for my procedure. I look forward to it in fact. If I had a choice I would have it done tomorrow. Unfortunately, the procedure hasn't been perfected for under-18s yet; it can still cause blindness, mental problems and worse.

I hate waking up and knowing that the disease is pulsing in my veins. It makes me feel dirty. Not quite right. It reminds me of the resistance, of women being dragged down the street, spitting, and eyes wide with desperation as they dragged their nails along the pavements, trying to get purchase.

It reminds me of my mother.

I will be safe and happy forever when the procedure is completed. That's what the scientists, Jane and my aunt say. I will be cured then paired with a boy the evaluators have chosen for me. After a few years we'll get married. I've been have dreams, well nightmares really, of standing in a brilliant white dress, holding hands with someone but whenever I turn to look at their face it's blurry. My hands are sweaty, my heart beating with excitement, going faster and faster until I collapse to the floor. Dead.

It wasn't always this good. At school we learnt about the Old Days, the dark days where people didn't realise how deadly love was. People viewed it as a _good _thing, something to be happy about, a thing to celebrate. That's why it's so dangerous. People would name disease like insomnia, bipolar, depression, they all stemmed from love. They didn't see _amor deliria nervosa_ as being deadly.

Until the cure is perfected, we under-18s wait in fear. The disease flowing through us. I've seen people ravaged by it, rather tearing their eyes out or throwing themselves on barb wire then have the procedure done. When I was young, a girl had managed to get free from her restraints and ran to the top of the laboratory roof. She jumped off the top without a scream. For a while after, the news teams would show pictures of her, on the floor her neck at an unnatural angle. Her face however looked like she was in a dreamless sleep, except the small trickle of blood that fell from her unmoving lips. It showed the true nature of love.

Only 100 days until I'm free and safe. I have no idea of how the procedure is completed, that being my only worry. It's hard to wait, knowing that _deliria _could grasp me at any time. I worry of the nature of love. The Book of Hush tells us that love used to drive people to madness. Of people killing for having found love, and those that die trying to find it.

That's why it's so deadly, why it has to be avoided at all costs. It kills you whether you have it or not.

* * *

The smell of apples always reminds me of funerals. On the morning of the evaluation, that's what I wake up to. I look over, eyes squinting. It's 6am.

The soft morning sun had just touched the curtains, making them a gentle blue colour in the room I share with my cousins. I push myself out of bed and see Angela sitting on her bed, an apple in hand looking at in confused. She brought it up to her mouth and tries to bite into it with her child-like teeth, but to no avail. A sudden twist of my stomach and I'm thrown back into the stuffy dress that I was forced to wear when my mother died. To remembering the gentle apologetic voices and a hand passing me apple after apple to keep me quiet. The bitter-sweet taste helping me force down the tears with each mouthful. I shake my head and take the apple from her tiny hands.

"Like this," I say and bite into it with a crunch. She continues to look at me and I try to hold my breath from the smell and chew down the piece as quickly as possible. I pass it back to her open hands and gesture that she can eat it now.

"You know it would be easier if you just spoke." I whispered to her as she enthusiastically bit into the red glossy apple. Angela hadn't spoken a word at all in her 6 years of life. My aunt thinks something is wrong with her brain, calling her 'as dumb as rock' on several occasions in a passé way as Angela chased a bright colourful butterfly, until it flew too high to reach where she continued to jump.

Angela's mother had died. She had always said she didn't want children. That's one of the problems with procedure, without _deliria, _many people find parenting difficult. Luckily, cases of total detachment – where a mother or father is unable to bond at all with the child and end up drowning them or holding a pillow over their face – are rare. It was decided Angela's mother should have two children, due to their father having a well-paid job and her being a dutiful mother.

Then Angela's father was suspected of being a _sympathizer_ – someone having contracted the disease in the early stages – and everything changed. They- Angela, her sister, Jessica and their mother- had to move back with my Aunt, Angela's grandmother. Everyone whispered and pointed at them, shadow of voices repeating the words _sympathizer_. That's stopped now. I doubt even Angela can remember her parents.

Their father disappeared before the start of his trial, probably a good thing to be honest. Most trials are for show only as _sympathizers_ are always executed or locked away in the Volterra to serve 5 life sentences. Their mother knew this of course and that's why my Aunt thinks her heart gave out after his disappearance, and she was put to trail in his place. She was just walking down the street and suddenly fell to the floor. Heart attack they say.

That's why you have to be so careful. Hearts are so delicate.

The humid air had already begun to cling to me in an uncomfortable manner. I sweep open the curtains and heaved open the window, dragging out the disturbing smell of apple and inhaling the delicious smell of sea air. This is why I loved living by the sea; there was something calming about the gentle ripple of waves making a relaxing hushing noise. Even the squawking of seagulls had me closing my eyes and enjoying the light breeze tickling my face.

"Nervous?" My aunt asked causing me to jump at her silent approach.

"No," I answered instinctive, crossing my arms over. Truth was I was terrified.

She was leant against the door frame in a floral dress. A flitting smile crossed her face but disappeared as quickly as it came.

"It'll be okay. Now have a shower so I can do your hair. We can review your answers as we go."

"Alright," I replied, moving from the window.

She continued to stare at me. I curled into myself, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I should get used to it I suppose, after all I'd have three evaluators doing the very same thing for around two hours. Plus I'd just be wearing a flimsy plastic dress, semi-translucent, so they could see my body.

"I'd give you about a seven or an eight." My aunt tells me, touching her chin thoughtfully. It's a decent score, one that I'd be happy for. "Though if you continue to stand there and not get ready it'll drop to a six."

Senior year is almost over and the evaluation is the final test. I've finally finished my exams, - maths, science, English literature, psychology and art (this was self-chosen) – and I should be getting those results in the next four months. I'm sure I did well enough to get into college. An academic assessor will analyse my strengths and weaknesses and assign me a college and major.

Then I will get paired. I will get a list of four or five matches where I will choose one to become my husband and marry right out of college. I'll be matched to someone with a similar score to me, similar intelligence, temperament and age. Yet you still here those stories of young girls being given to wealthy old man.

If I do well and marry into a good family, it should destroy the final whispers of _sympathizer_ that follow Angela and Jessica. It's only recently that my very own whispers stopped following me. Mine felt worse though. _Suicide_. They were only mutters and rumours. In my dreams they were screams.

I pick up a towel and see Jessica head in the room, "Is Isabella going to get married today?" She's only nine and naïve to how the world runs.

"Don't be stupid. She's not cured yet, of course she can't." My Aunt retorted.

The word marry always makes me freeze. 'Marriage is order. Marriage means stability. All the marks of a health society.' I quoted silently from the Book of Hush. The thought still makes me shiver though. I've never touched a boy – physical contact is forbidden of course and sex is obviously forbidden until you are cured. I've hardly even spoken to a boy, not counting family of course.

If I don't pass my exams, I'll marry straight away as soon as I'm cured. Less than four months away. That means a _wedding night_.

I can still smell apples and rush from the room, trying not to be sick.

"We'll have to leave in an hour. Hurry with your shower," She sighs as I rush past.

* * *

**Hello there! I've just finished reading Delirium by Lauren Oliver and I have to say it's amazing! I thought it'd fit amazingly well with Twilight. Hope you enjoy my spin on the two.**

**I'd love to hear what your views are!**

**HeresToTheFuture. **


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